


Crossroads

by impalaloompa



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Little bit of Fluff, Little bit of angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: “I’ll see you in the spring,” Jaskier slung his lute over his shoulder and retied the strings of his pack just to make sure it was secure.As he straightened up, he was met with the Witcher’s bulk and strong arms were thrown around him in quick, hard hug. Before Jaskier had the chance to return the embrace, Geralt was stepping away and Jaskier’s gut knotted. This was how it always went.“Be safe,” Geralt grumbled and Jaskier quirked him a soft smile.“You too,” he placed a hand on Geralt’s shoulder, squeezing slightly, trying to convey every unspoken emotion with the pressure of his fingertips, then he let his hand drop so he could pick up his pack.Jaskier gave Roach a gentle pat on her velvety nose and then turned to head towards Oxenfurt.He could feel Geralt’s amber eyes boring into him as he walked away, but he kept his gaze ahead, resisting the tugging need to look back. He knew that if he did, he’d never leave.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 319





	Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my 40th Witcher fan fic! How fun. As always, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.

Geralt and Jaskier stood quietly at the crossroads. To the west lay Oxenfurt. To the north, the road towards the mountains and then eventually, Kaer Morhen. 

They found themselves in this exact spot every year once the biting chill in the air signalled the coming of winter. Jaskier heading off towards the city, guest lecturing at the college, cosy and warm in the luxurious chambers allocated to him. Geralt trekking into the wilderness to join his brothers at the Witcher’s keep, catching up with their news, blocking up holes in the mortar to snuff out the drafts. They’d come together again in the spring after nearly three months apart and carry on travelling together, pretending that they hadn’t spent every single minute missing the other desperately.

The same routine, every year for eight years now.

But this year was different. This year there was an ache that panged so deep it rendered even the chatty bard stuck for words as they prepared to say their farewells.

Jaskier glanced at Geralt. The Witcher had his eyes cast down, gripping the reins of his mare tightly. There were so many things he wanted to say, that he always meant to say at this crossroads at the start of winter, but he always stopped himself.

It had taken a long time, but Geralt was comfortable and open around him. Jaskier was the only person besides Geralt’s kin who truly knew Geralt, and in return, he had let the Witcher know him. All of him. Their friendship was almost as famous as themselves by now, but Jaskier’s feelings for Geralt ran deeper than that. He had fallen and fallen hard. He hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t a gradual realisation. It had hit him one day like a punch to the gut, crashing into him and forcing the breath from him. He was in love with his best friend. And he had no way of knowing if Geralt felt the same way about him.

The Witcher had taken long enough to accept the idea that they were friends. Jaskier didn’t want to risk making him uncomfortable and pushing him away by confessing how he really felt. So, it was his secret, forced down and ignored, letting it gnaw away inside his chest until eventually he was no longer able to shake the hollow feeling that followed him around. 

If Geralt noticed something was off about him, he didn’t say. Spending the years either avoiding or being blissfully ignorant of the bard’s inner turmoil. Jaskier couldn’t blame him really. Geralt wasn’t particularly brilliant at picking up social cues. He was getting better, but even after eight years in Jaskier’s company, the Witcher still landed them in trouble with his awkwardness in certain social situations.

Jaskier let out a shaky sigh, his breath billowing about him in a steamy cloud. He tightened his woollen cloak around him and shuffled his feet.

“Well…” he hummed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, “I guess this is us for now.”

Geralt’s amber gaze rested on his own blue. The Witcher’s expression was unreadable. Jaskier’s heart picked up a pace.

“Can’t believe it’s been a year already since we were last here. How time flies when you’re having fun,” Jaskier chirped, trying to gauge Geralt’s reaction.

The Witcher just grunted. 

He didn’t know what he was expecting really. This was how it always went. Jaskier doing most of the talking, Geralt being stoic, just watching the bard as he retrieved his lute and pack from Roach’s saddle, his amber eyes brimming with an emotion that Jaskier always struggled to place. 

“I’ll see you in the spring,” Jaskier slung his lute over his shoulder and retied the strings of his pack just to make sure it was secure. 

As he straightened up, he was met with the Witcher’s bulk and strong arms were thrown around him in quick, hard hug. Before Jaskier had the chance to return the embrace, Geralt was stepping away and Jaskier’s gut knotted. This was how it always went. 

“Be safe,” Geralt grumbled and Jaskier quirked him a soft smile.

“You too,” he placed a hand on Geralt’s shoulder, squeezing slightly, trying to convey every unspoken emotion with the pressure of his fingertips, then he let his hand drop so he could pick up his pack.

Jaskier gave Roach a gentle pat on her velvety nose and then turned to head towards Oxenfurt.

He could feel Geralt’s amber eyes boring into him as he walked away, but he kept his gaze ahead, resisting the tugging need to look back. He knew that if he did, he’d never leave. 

It took him the rest of the day to reach the next small village. The tightness in his chest thrumming in time with every thump of his aching heart. 

He tucked himself away at a table in the corner of the pokey little tavern, not really in the mood for playing for the patrons, just letting the warmth of the hearth and the rich stew in his belly dull the well of hurt inside him.

Once in Oxenfurt he could throw himself into music and teaching and winter markets, but for now, he let himself feel it, everything he couldn’t express around the Witcher in fear of losing him. 

The hours ticked by and the few patrons milling about returned home for the evening. 

Jaskier was mentally preparing himself to make the journey from his table up the stairs to his room for the night, absently watching the barkeep collect tankards and dishes from the tightly packed tables, when the door slammed open, letting a wave of cold air sweep the room and making the flames dance in the hearth. 

The barkeep looked up and Jaskier stilled in shock.

Silhouetted against the inky darkness, stood Geralt. 

Jaskier’s heart leaped into his throat, his initial thoughts turning to concern. What had happened? What had gone wrong? Was he hurt?

Geralt’s eyes practically glowed in the low light as he dragged them across the room and landed on the bard.

Jaskier threw himself from the table, rushing at Geralt as the Witcher marched towards him.

“Geralt what-?” Jaskier was cut off as Geralt crashed their mouths together in a bruising kiss.

The Witcher’s hands cupped his cheeks, pulling him in impossibly closer and Jaskier whined. 

Lips slid against lips in desperate fervency until Jaskier was breathless with it. He curled his arms around the back of Geralt’s neck and the Witcher took hold of his waist, walking him backwards until he banged into a wooden pillar with a grunt. 

Jaskier’s entire body was on fire. Heat tingled in his gut, spreading through his core and prickling along his skin. His heart was thundering in his chest and he twisted his fingers into Geralt’s silver hair in an attempt to ground himself.

Eventually Geralt broke the kiss, dropping his head so that his forehead bumped against Jaskier’s chin. The pair were panting, quivering, still pressed flush together as the initial adrenaline wore off, leaving them both giddy.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered.

The Witcher lifted his head and the fire in those amber eyes made Jaskier’s knees weak.

“I’m such an idiot,” Geralt growled, “I shouldn’t have let you leave. I always let you leave…”

“W-what?” Jaskier blinked rapidly, his gut constricting.

“I love you Jaskier. I love you. I should have told you sooner. I should have… I couldn’t watch you walk away again without you knowing. I wanted… I need…”

The blood thundering in Jaskier’s ears was deafening. A dark blush reddened his cheeks, and he was struggling to form coherent thought as his eyes shimmered with tears.

“Geralt,” he whimpered, “I didn’t know. If-if I’d known-fuck-Geralt, I love you too. I love you so much.”

He surged forwards to capture Geralt’s lips again, arching into the Witcher as Geralt pressed him against the pillar. 

Geralt’s hands bracketed his face, thumbs brushing back and forth across his tear-stained cheeks. 

Jaskier buried his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck, sucking in huge breaths as Geralt tucked his arms around him.

“Come with me,” Geralt rumbled, carding his finger through Jaskier’s thick hair, “To Kaer Morhen. Spend the winter with me. I want you by my side.”

Jaskier nodded into Geralt’s neck then leaned back, a brilliant smile lighting up his face.

“Of course I’ll go with you,” he brushed a lock of Geralt’s hair behind his ear.

Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek, then his temple, and then his mouth again.

“It’ll be cold,” Geralt mumbled.

“I don’t care,” Jaskier responded.

“Any the journey is hard.”

“I don’t care.”

“There won’t be any-”

“Geralt,” Jaskier hushed him, “I would follow you into the pits of hell if I had to. It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you.”

Geralt furrowed his brow slightly as he searched Jaskier’s expression and found nothing but sincerity. 

“I love you Geralt,” Jaskier trailed his fingers down Geralt’s cheek, feather light and the Witcher leaned into his touch.

Geralt’s sigh was warm and tickled his skin.

“Come on. It’s too late to set out now. We can go first thing in the morning,” the bard rubbed their noses together and slipped his fingers into Geralt’s, giving his hand a slight squeeze. 

The Witcher let Jaskier lead him up to the small bedchamber and their usual routine was littered with shy smiles as they danced around each other almost awkwardly. 

Jaskier climbed into the pallet bed first, ignoring the scratchy straw mattress and moth-eaten sheets as Geralt slid in beside him, arranging the sheets so they were both covered and then opening his arms slightly, inviting the bard into his warmth. Jaskier bundled himself against Geralt’s chest and the Witcher cocooned him tightly. 

They had slept like this before, sharing heat when the nights were cold and the flickering fire wasn’t enough, but this was different. This was more. And a trill of happiness sparked through Jaskier as he snuggled into the Witcher, his Witcher, pressing his nose into Geralt’s neck, curling his fingers into Geralt’s shirt, listening to the steady thud of Geralt’s heart as the man he loved held him close. 

He felt Geralt shift slightly, humming in contentment and nuzzling into Jaskier’s hair.

A small smile graced Jaskier’s lips as sleep pulled at him.

“Love you Geralt,” he hummed.

“Love you too,” the rich rumble of the Witcher vibrated through him.

After so many years, he finally had what he wanted, what he had longed for, and excitement curled into his gut as the possibilities of this new adventure followed him into his dreams.


End file.
